Where Sand Meets Sea: The Adventures of Horan Sand
by Joey Johnston
Summary: Horan Sand is the illegitimate child of Lord Qorgyle of in Dorne. The first chapter finds our character in the castle of Sandstone with the ill lord Qorgyle near death. Taking towards the end of the War of Five Kings right around the During the events of The Dance of Dragons.
1. Chapter 1

Where Sand Meets Sea:

The Adventures of Horan Sand

Chapter I

Lord Qorgyle was near death. The sickness was extremely virulent taking the life out of him as fast as the night takes the warmth out of the air. Merely two days ago he was escorting the trading convoy from the dunes into the keep. Now he looked as small and dry as the scorpions that bore their banners. Where the muscular Lord of Sandstone famed for his skill on a horse was now a weak old man reduced to a deathbed.

He lay in his bed silently moving his lips and eyes. Aside from the small rhythmic movements of his chest they were the only parts of his body that still gave off the hint of life. He could have been praying to the seven or trying to convey a last confession. Horan leaned in closer to his father. His eyes showed no stimulus of his presence and no sound came from his mouth.

He grasped on to his father boney, dry, and chilled hand.

"I'll miss you father." He choked out.

If he heard him he gave no notice. Horan rose and walked out of the lord's chambers. On his way descending through the dark he met the future Lord of Sandstone. Gulian with a torch in hand followed by Maester Muli and Steward Rusoron.

"Wipe the tears out of your eyes Sand. Sandston's lord is dying this is no time for weeping like Omon." Gulian barked loud enough so that it echoed up and down the stairway. His black eyes illuminated by the torch showed pure hatred for him.

"I'm sorry brother I'll be on my way." He said in a respectful tone undeserving for the likes of Gulian.

"Your no brother of mine." He spat at his feet and marched up to their father's chambers.

Horan continued his descent from the Untouched tower. Named because it was supposedly the only part of the castle above the ground that didn't fall to the dragon fire of the Targaryen's in The First Dornish War.

Suddenly he was grabbed from behind strong thick fingers as big as sausages pulled Horan into the shadows. The fingers and arms restricted his voice and body. He felt that they were going down. Deep down into the catacombs and caves of Sandstone. He stopped struggling and started to feel tired as the tunnel got darker and colder. Finally he was laid down on a chilled moist slab of rock. The fingers retreated from his face. Horan tried to scream but he started to cough fiercely. He could barely muster out "Who?".

The fingers reappeared by the light of a candle. "Don't worry Sandy I'm here to help."

Only one person in the entire castle called him that. Estron was the master of horses for the castle. With Horan's desire to ride almost daily they became close. "Estron?" he coughed.

"Yes, Sandy keep quite. Even though we are in the deep dark there are ears everywhere."

"Why are we down here? Who is listening?" he croaked.

"The Lord Scorpion has been poisoned by his very own son. He seeks to be the sole ruler of Sandstone. He knows that Arron is as good as dead in the hands of the Lannisters. He's prepared to kill anyone that poses a threat to his birthright."

"But that means." He said in fear.

"Yes, you and Omon are in danger of being killed. You must flee. I've payed off two guards at your chambers. Grab what ever you need and come to me at the stables. Be quick; you leave tonight." He said.

"But…But" he stammered he had so many questions. He didn't want to leave. Sandstone was his home. He wouldn't know where else to go.

"No time for that now Sandy. Now turn around walk twenty paces and you come to a wall push on it and you'll be in staircase leading up to your chambers. Now hurry!" He exclaimed.

"Horan did as he was told. He was nearly crying when he felt the cold damp wall of rock. He pushed forward. He could hear the internal clicks of gears. He pushed harder and soon he had made a crack big enough to move through. He soon was in a dark barely lit stair case. He climbed up the steps and arrived at his room. He walked past the two guards and found Omon asleep. He would wake him last. He threw off his shoes and donned his tan riding cloak and boots. He pulled his hood over his head. He fastened his belt onto his waist while sliding in his dirks and putting his bow and quiver over his back.

Suddenly there were two clangs of metal on metal from outside. Horan turned around dirks in hand as the door exploded. Horan found himself on the ground in a pile of splinters that use to be his bed. In the doorway was Gulian and two men-at-arms.

Gulian walked over to Omon who just woke up. He started to wail and hit Gulian in the face.

" Ahh you cur!" he shrieked as he threw his brother out the window.

The anger in Horan built up and up. He grabbed the lamp next to him and threw it at the two guards. The oil drenched their boiled leather breasts and the flame engulfed their bodies. The screams where horrible. He sliced open the first one's belly as the sizzling organs spewed out. Before he could get to the second the flames had done their job. The petrified Gulian stood frozen with fear.

"Kinslayer!" Horan shouted as he punched Gulian in the cheek and the ribs. Gulian collapsed as Horan jumped out of the other window.

The olives trees broke most of the fall but a base branch nearly broke his back. He wobbled out of the grove and ran to the stables. He found Estron saddling up his sand steed. Estron heard him approaching and drew a longsword. He immediately put it away when he recognized him.

"Estron Gulian killed Oman!" He cried out."

"That murderous beast. The seven will judge him harsh. But we can't stay here and mourn him. There is still hope to save you." He said near tears. He lifted Horan up onto the saddle. "Head east through the desert past Hellholt. Go as far as Sunspear and then keep goi…."

He was cut short by the alarm bell. The castle guards where coming up onto parapet. One guard had already scene them and was notching an arrow. Estron slapped the back of the horse and Horan took the reins.

"Go Horan and do no" and that where the last words of Estron as an arrow pierced his throat.

Horan sped the horse towards the gates. He snatched a weary guard's lance out of his hand and nearly impaled the other but only managed to pierce the fabric at his side. This was still enough force to throw him backwards. He stormed out through the gates arrows raining down as he drove his mount through the bazaar. Still sprinting the horse went through the last gate and out into the cool clear night.


	2. Chapter 2

Where Sand Meets Sea:

The Adventures of Horan Sand

Chapter 2

The full moon blazed like a white torch throughout the night. The pale light turned the dunes into waves of silver salt. Every minute or so Horan would look back behind him. He could barely see Sandstone by now. The Untouched tower was now the size of a splinter.

Even though the castle was leagues behind him the deaths of Oman and Estron followed him. Estron that brave fool, he risked his own life to save him. But why? He never liked Gulian. Estron had told him that after a days riding. He had said something about greed and ignorance, but the conversation had left him. And Oman, sweet little Oman who was his half-brother and was about to pass his fifth name day. Gulian threw him out the window like waste in a chamber pot.

Horan hoped that he ruined Gulian's pretty little face. He never hatted is brother. Often, he and Arron would play in the olive orchards and steal food from the kitchens but like Lady Qorgyle he was always resented for being a bastard.

Dama's pace was still a steady run clamping lightly across the cool sand. A sand steed could run for two days and a night, but Horan had never kept her at such a pace for so long.

He looked back, and this time Sandstone had vanished. It was just him, Dama, and the sea of sand and stars. Maester Muli had shown Gulian, Arron and him the constellations and how to navigate by them. Looking up Horan saw the stallion, sow, Galley, and the Ice Dragon. Because the Ice Dragon's eye pointed north Horan knew where to go.

East was where Estron told him to go and it was the only option. Going south would take him to the coast where House Qorgyle ruled. If he went west into the red mountains of House Dayne he would get trapped by the Summer Sea. If he went north, he would have to brave the bandits in the foothills of the mountains. East would take him far away from Sandstone, away from bandits, and to Plank Town; Dorne's principle port.

The pair rode all the way to first light, then early morning, then around midday Horan had to stop. He had been awake for more than a day and was blacking out. A little ways away there was an out cropping of rock he spurred Dama to it and recognized it immediately. It was where the Pincers Passage was held.

Every year all the boys of the castle when they reached age 12 were brought out blindfolded to the slab of stone. At sunset each one of them was sent into the desert to find there way home. Most are able to get a direction when the stars come out and find there way once they see the castle. Some boys however pass out in the cold or bake in the heat. Gulian made it two the gate an hour before him and would neve let him forget it.

Those where the worst two days of his life. By the time he could see the black scorpions on the banners hanging on the parapet he was stumbling and could barely see. He kept seeing images of olive trees to his right and left. But whenever he would look over they would vanish. Sometimes when he was walking he would see wildflowers growing in the sand. When he would go to drink their nectar, they would dissolve in the air.

He collapsed at the gate and slept for three days. Horan would later learn that Gulian and him where three out of six that made it.

The pale stone stood about five men tall and was as long as two wheel houses. He led his horse to the shady side and climbed down. He undid the saddle bags and looked through the contents; three jugs of water, metal stakes and rope, horse feed, mallet, mat, blanket, knife, a flask of hippocras, salted olives, dragon peppers, scorpion jerky, three lemons, and a small black chest. After opening the later, he was amazed to see the assortment of dragons and stags inside. He counted the total and it came out to be 633 golden dragons and 788 silver stags. Well enough to keep him alive for some time. The money likely came from the Sandstone vault. Water was as good as gold in Dorne and Sandstone was the only well for fifty leagues in any direction. Caravans and travelers would have to purchase water, or they would die. This made the house one of the richest in Dorne.

He grabbed the clothed mask and fitted it to Dama's neck. He poured some water into the mask and Dama drank. Sand Steeds didn't need water that often, so she didn't drink it all. Horan drank the rest out of the mask. Horan hammered in the stake and tied Dama up. He laid down his mat in the shade and the warm breeze drifted him off to sleep.

He dreamt of Omon being thrown from the window and Estron grabbing him in the dark. Then the dream shifted to a woman in a boat made of reeds pushing herself down a wide river filled with vegetation on each side. There was also barking dogs and giggling women. The dream seemed to swirl in the end and he awoke with a lance at his throat.

"Did you enjoy your sleep whore?" the man chuckled with the three black scorpions of house Qorgyle on his breast. He was looking into the eyes of Sir Rusoran and three other men from Sandstone.


	3. Chapter 3

Where Sand Meets Sea:

The Adventures of Horan Sand

Chapter 3

And so, Horan began is second Pincer Passage. Sir Rusoran attached a rope to his neck and forced him to walk behind his horse. You could call it walking but it was mostly Horan stumbling and being dragged in the evening heat.

The dry noose chocked his breath and was blistering his skin. The Sun's light bounced off the ground so that wherever Horan looked he was blinded without a veil to put over his head. It wasn't like he didn't have one, but his hands were also tied so as not to reach for other things.

His second passage was similar to the first. Endless sand, endless heat, endless light. The only difference was the smell coming from the end of Rusoran's horse.

What awaited him back at the castle? He doubted he would get the quick death that Oman had been generously given. He could be forced out into the desert naked. He could be buried up to his head in a sand dune. Lord Quentyn Qorgyle had once tied a thief by his legs and ordered him to be lowered into the well head first and then brought back up to the point of suffocation but not death. This went on for hours and Gullian and him were meant to watch to see how Dornish Justice is conducted. Knowing Gulian's praise for tradition he could take a page from history and slay him like Lyonel Tyrell 150 years ago. Lyonel Tyrell had just taken captured Sandstone and desired to sleep in the Lord's chambers. In doing so he found himself in a bed with a hundred scorpions. If that was going to be his fate maybe it was for the best. The stingers would balloon his body so much he would be unrecognizable.

After an hour of marching among the waves of sand Horan noticed a dog on the crest of a hill. Its figure was blurred and faint because of the heat haze but still distinguished. It was well known that Sand dogs roamed the desert, but it was odd to fine one alone. When one killed in the desert it was courtesy to leave the body so that the dogs could live. One of the other guards noticed it as well. He asked Rusoran for leave to kill. Ser Rusoran hesitated at first but then gave him leave. The guard spurred his horse toward the hound, slowly as not to make him flee.

The hound turned directly towards him and sprinted over the crest of the summit. The man gave chase lance in hand and disappeared over the cliff. Rusoran ordered a halt until he returned.

A moment later the guard's head was visible over the dune. His face was full of fear. As his mount came into view Horan noticed the two red dots piercing his thigh and abdomen. When he finally started to descend down the other side of the hill an arrow from behind pierced the back of his head and he fell down off his horse. Blood dotted the sand as he tumbled all the way down to Horan's feet.

Thankfully the body was turned over, so Horan didn't vomit on his face. The knight ordered Horan to get onto Dama. Horan did as he was told and climbed onto the saddle. It was well known that bandit tribes patrolled the desert, but It was odd that they were so close to the castle. Horan was prepared to race all the way to Sandstone when the enemy came over the hill.

The bandits had sand steeds of their own. About a dozen riders came over the hill. All the bandits where hidden underneath veils but that didn't stop their accuracy. Arrows darted cross the air from the double curved yew bows.

Horan drove Dama away from the skirmish. He didn't even know if he was headed toward Sandstone or Sunspear. It didn't matter if he was away from the bloodshed. Arrows whizzed by his head and shot into the. He did not look back for fear of getting one in the eye; he wish he had.

Out of the corner of his left eye where two riders were coming along side him. Each where notching an arrow aimed at his head. Horan reared his mount and dashed the other direction. He could see in the distance the bloodshed. All the Qorgyle horses had been killed. Rusoran and the guards had formed a small shield circle with spears and arrows raining down on them. The bandits had formed their own circle of horses swirling around them in a whirlpool of spears and steeds.

He turned to his left, his heart racing as he fled the scene. He could see the rock where he slept only moments ago in the distance and headed for it. Out of nowhere three dogs found there way in front of the steed. Teeth bared and claws ready. Dama reared and Horan fell hard into the sand.

He knew this was the end as the dogs had surrounded his mount and the two riders came closer. He waited, arms aside for the arrow to pierce his heart. It never came. He opened his eyes and the rider undid his whip and it lashed around his neck. The pain was indescribable, and he nearly blacked out while trying to undo it. But his grip was small despite his slender size. The other rider came up next to him and punched him in the head.

The ringing in his ears was unbearable and the raiders kept moving to the left and the right. Horan collapsed in the sand not realizing that the whip around his neck had retreated. His curly black hair made nice pillow against the warm, fine, bed of grains. Horan started to get sleepy. The threat of bandits and dogs seemed to fade away.

Suddenly a cool splash of water rushed down his cheeks. It wasn't water it was spit coming from the trio of sand dogs. No one would waste water out here. The warrior with the whip helped him up and put him back on his horse. He made sure to tie both his hands. He then roped Dama to his own stallion who was the color of Olive bark with a chestnut mane. And for the first time Horan noticed the scarred and bloody sides of the horse from consistent spurring by the rider. With the Whip Warrior in front and the other behind with the dogs following, they marched back to where the slaughter had occurred. The three shields bearing the black scorpions of Sandstone where caked with blood. The Sand dogs where ripping apart the two guards while one bandit was scalping the head of the knight.

The thieves stood 15 in number with as many dogs. Each one the same slender build of an unfed man. The leader, he assumed finished depriving the Steward of hair threw it to the dogs and started looting the body. Pieces of parchment and coins where stripped from the body. He paused while looking over a piece of paper.

In a high-pitched voice, the leader told the Whip Warrior to take Horan off the horse and onto the ground.

The hot sand burned his butt, but he dared not complain. The leader walked over to him, paper in hand and undid his veil. An old, dry, feminine face stared into his face.

"Are you Horan Sand bastard of the late Lord Quentyn Qorgyle, head of house and Castle?" She said in a raspy voice like dry leaves.

"Yes I am." He responded in a tone that tried to hide his surprise.

"It says here that you have killed your father, your bastard brother, the stable master, two guards, and attempted to kill Gulian Qorgyle in order to become Lord of Sandstone. However, you plot was thwarted on your way to kill the Gulian and on your escape you injured numerous smallfolk. You re charged with treachery or your house, desertion, kinslaying, and murder. With a bounty on your head of 100 gold dragons dead or alive."

Horan was upset not only had Gulian lied about the entire event of the night before but Horan was worth at least 200 dragons he thought.

"Well I guess it was a bad move to call myself Horan Sand." He said hoping to lighten the move.

She chuckled which only seemed to make the chances of survival seem even slimmer.

"100 gold dragons are enough to make me a rich lady for the time. So, tell me. Why should I hesitate on this offer?" she said in a voice as deadly as the desert itself.

"Well you killed three guards and the steward of Sandstone that will make The Lord upset."

"Your right about that. Although whose to say you didn't kill those men on your escape and we found you later." She had him beat.

" I highly doubt that he will believe I killed three grown men and a knight." He said in retaliation.

Her eyes darted as she pressed her lips. The women were beaten and she knew it. She also knew it that he knew it too.

The Whip Warrior undid her veil. She looked to be a fair woman. She was past thirty with rat brown hair and close black eyes of hot temperament.

"Aeda we have places to be. I don't care if he lives or dies but I do have a special place for bastards." The woman said.

"Obara this doesn't concern you. I chose when we leave." Aeda shouted in a tone that hinted she didn't like being questioned.

"I paid you in Hellholt to take me across the desert. You already have enough gold so why go wasting time on this boy." Obara insisted.

Aeda glared at Obara then at him then at the other women.

Horan interrupted the conversation. "If it is gold you desire take 120 dragons from the chest on my horse. 100 for my bounty and 20 for the 20 you would take without me looking." He said hoping to stratify both parties.

Aeda still pondering it eventually pointed at a raider to carry out the task. After counting the money, he was allowed back onto his feet. While saddling up his hose he went over to talk to Obara.

"I'm just trying to survive and get away from my family." He started before being interrupted.

"I have family to. My father like yours died to. The difference between you and me is that I'm not running, I'm avenging."

"Just tell me how to get to Sunspear and I'll be on my way." He insisted

"Sadly I know that place all to well. It's a heap of hot waste and cowardly men. Ride east past Hellholt, over The Brimstone, through the Black Hills till you reach The Vaith follow the river till you get to the fork of The Scourge and The Vaith and follow the flow till you reach the mouth. If it is your desrire to flee your family don't stop at Sunspear go to Planky Town and get on a boat. This time don't stop. And don't stay near a castle for longer than you must. It's likely ravens have already been sent to half the Lords in Dorne." She said climbing on to her stallion.

Aeda lead the women and dogs into a line and they left Horan alone with the bodies. Horan didn't want to stay before other Sand dogs came to lick the bones clean. He climbed onto Dama and shot east to House Uller.


	4. Chapter 4

Where Sand Meets Sea:

The Adventures of Horan Sand

Chapter 4

The green villa stook out like a fly in milk. A whole forest of lemon trees, olive groves, and bushels of dragon peppers could be seen against the dead orange sands. Even from a quarter-mile away the scent of the pomegranates and plums was a wonderful treat. The light bounced of the fruits and twinkled like rainbow crystals in the distance. In the middle of the canopy a creme painted dome rose speckled with what he guessed where drawings of flowers.

Horan had seen nothing but sand and sand dunes for days. He had lost count after five. The only way to tell time now was the grumble of his stomach and the call of sleep. Nearly all his water had been emptied out of the jugs. The lemons, olives, and peppers where rationed but eaten all the same. Horan as of late had relied on the meat from desert vultures plucked from the sky and unlucky scorpions tanning in the early morning. The only edible good he still had from Sandstone was the small flask of Hippocras which he intended to drink when he saw Hellholt.

A fertile house like that is bound to be well protected he thought. He could go in and trade coin for crop, but he didn't want to risk it. A house like that had to be fed by a channel of some sort from the nearby lake. As Horan got around to the other side of the villa he saw the thin strip of cobblestone rock that marked the presence of irrigation.

Hellholt was nestled on the western bank of the Brimstone. A small lake was present just before the river turned into a waterfall that was so tall the water in the bottom turned to mist. Across Westeros it was known as Aegon's Aguish for the pain he felt after he learned of Queen Rhaenys death at Hellholt. But the smallfolk called it The Toad's Tear's after Meria Martell shed tears of joy at the death of the invader.

Brim Lake or simply The Brim as it is called by many provided many farms in the vicinity with water. Sandstone did it similarly but on a small scale with its well. The farm was connected to the lake through the spiderweb of canals that could stretch out for leagues.

Horan could see The Brim through the haze of the desert though he could smell it too. The sulpherous water smelled like dead eggs. It didn't stop Horan from dismounting from Dama and drowning himself in the water when he finally reached its edge.

He rubbed the sand off his skin and led Dama in to drink the water. Horan went to Dama's side and opened the Hippocras.

The sweet liquid made every inch of his tongue flourish with life. The cinnamon was truly wonderful. He even tried to give some to Dama who after a few drops turned it down. He emptied the flask and walked Dama to the town following the shore.

They came through a rich grove which smelled of lemon and blood oranges. He saw field hands tending to some of the leaves, but they paid him no mind as he walked though. After about two miles they came to the small town if it could even be called that of Hellholt.

If The Brim smelled bad the village smelled worse. Flies and horse shit where everywhere along with a overbearing heat that seemed to intensify by the minute. Crude buildings of clay and sod parted to form a main road and at the very end was the castle.

The castle by its self was a single tower followed by small buildings and a parapet. Even from across the way he could see the Painted flag of House Uller's red flames against the yellow desert. The smallfolk paid him no mind as he went about his business. They were mostly farmers although he did see a company of Martel guards escorting what looked like some important female paramours to the castle, old and young.

Horan made his way to the market passing by the only pillow house and inn. It would be so nice to sleep in a bed again. It had been a lucky occasion for the past few days not to wake up next to a snake.

At the market it was more of the same. Farmers selling crops and what merchants they had selling tools. There where some rarer good he spied though. He saw a man selling lumber from god know where. The nearest forest was in The Stormlands hundreds of leagues away. He saw a Myrish merchant with a crimson beard, haggling with a fisherman over his catch. Horan finally found what he was looking for. He walked up to the large stand where the owner sold clean water. He paid the reasonable price and even bought another Jug for his trip over the hills. He moved on to another stand to buy horse feed for Dama.

After visiting more stands, he finally had replenished his supplies of food and crossed the bridge over to the eastern side of The Brimstone. It was sunset by then, so the lake had turned the color or blood orange juice. The Toad's Tears looked like sparks rising from a fire as they soared up into the sky. After riding past a few more stinking clay houses he looked out across the desert that lay in his path. Just above the horizon he could make out the thin outline of the burnt Black Hills. It would be a long journey and the Winter Winds as of late where making sandstorms more common. He pushed his creme veil over his forehead and dashed of into the sand making a cloud of dust and casting a long shadow.


	5. Chapter 5

Where Sand Meets Sea:

The Adventures of Horan Sand

It twisted and warped like a dancer in a skirt. Shooting out and its arms then being pulled back in. The sandstorm was racing north across the black hills. Even though Horan was leagues away from the storm its harsh winds and moans could be felt and heard. It looked so small from far away but growing up he knew all the danger storms like that possessed.

In the long winter storms in The North snow would pile taller than a man and would black out the sun. The same situation occurred with sand in Dorne. Dunes would shift and raise, and the storm would black out the whole castle back in Sandstone. On a few occasions lighting would dash across the sky illuminating a world full of dust.

This storm seemed more at ease as it diapered beyond a peak off to frighten another lord or lady in a castle. Thing s always seem simpler far away.

After hiss piss break Horan propped himself onto Dama again and went on through the black hill path. The heat as of late was his worst enemy. The lack of water was bearable. The loneliness was challenged by Dama. The constant light beating down on him was becoming less noticeable, but the heat was killing him. It was baking his very mind. The ground was becoming dotted with flowers more and more often. Nearly everything out of his peripheral vison was wavy.

Normally to combat this, he would travel by night, but the Hills were different from the Dunes. If a rider didn't tread carefully enough his horse could break a leg stranding him. He was almost through these burnt hills with their charred rock.

Then it would be smooth sailing down through more dunes to the rivers. He could almost taste the Greenblood from here. But for now, it was Dama and him against the burnt.

Night attacked, and the heat retreated. It was funny that something as loathed in the light could be so loved in the night. He made their camp off the path and quickly fell into a deep sleep.

It was the same dream again and again. Flashes of color barely put together enough to be called a picture. There was that same woman in a boat of reeds on the water. Giggling girls in dress the color of fire. A ship with a bird figurehead. And a pale scorpion.

When Horan awoke he found a pair of golden slit eyes gazing back at him. Horan was petrified but he had to remain calm. The snake's split tongue made an appearance tasting his fear. With the free hand he wasn't laying on, he slowly curved his fingers around his dirk. His grip tightened around the handle and was just about to lurch away when a shadow of black feathers as quick as lightning gashed his arm. He immediately jumped back before the snake could strike. It never did. The eagle shot back down again and grabbed the snake and off it flew.

Horan was now facing a possibly larger danger. Three deep cuts were already producing blood through his sleeve.

Horan undid the fabric and tied the remains of the cloth on his upper arm with his right hand. The pain was becoming unbearable. He tore off his other sleeve and started to apply pressure to the wound. Horan knew that wouldn't do it. With his good arm he propped himself up and undid a jug of water. He restarted the fire and grabbed his dirk. By the time a flame was produced Horan was feeling dizzy. He boiled a little water in the jug. And heated his dirk in the flame till it glowed red. He undid the fabric and washed out the blood. It stung was so painful he had to stuff the clean cloth in his mouth so he didn't bite his tongue off. But the water was nothing compared to cauterizing the cut three times. Horan nearly fainted by the last one.

What little medical tricks Maester Muli had performed for the castle Horan racked his mind trying to recall anything that would help him with his gash. Horan felt like a baby so dependent on help from others. In the deserts it wasn't the land of others; it was the land of you're on your own. With his good arm he doused the fire and collected his belongings. He then pulled himself onto Dama and grabbed the reigns with one hand and rode back along the path.

Without proper treatment from a healer or maester the wound was likely to fester. Horan did not intend to lose his arm anytime soon. Dama had been resting easy these past few days so he pushed her into a run, to reach Vaith by next morning, if it was that close. The sun was a half way to halfway in the sky when his arm was beating like a drum. It was as if his whole heart had moved from his chest to his bicep. The pulse vibrated down to his fingers causing them to shoot up and down with the rhythm of Dama.

By midday the pain was becoming more intense as was the heat causing him to hug the slender neck of Dama, so he didn't fall off. He didn't know how or when he fell off the horse, but he certainly felt it when it happened. He landed on his good side so the pain could've been a lot worse. He felt his vison grow dark on either side. Far away Dama had stopped and even further away Horan could see three figures walking towards him as he felt his eyes close.


End file.
